"I have, however, a reasonable cause of worry. Dear little
mummy isn't well. At first we thought her indisposition of
little account, but she seems run down. She has been flurried
and nervous ever since I came home; indeed, I may say she has
been so for years. Now she seems suddenly to have broken
down. But I'm going to do everything I can for her, and I
know father will, too; for he can't endure to have any one
sick. It arouses his great virtue, his physicianship."

* * * * *

A week later Kate mailed this:--

"I am turning to you in my terrible fear. Mummy won't answer
our questions and seems lost in a world of thought. Father
has called in other physicians to help him. I can't tell you
how like a frightened child I feel. Oh, my poor little
bewildered mummy! What do you suppose she is thinking about?"

* * * * *

Then, a week afterward, this--on black-bordered paper:--

"SISTER HONORA:--

"She's been gone three days. To the last we couldn't tell why
she fell ill. We only knew she made no effort to get well. I
am tormented by the fear that I had something to do with her
breaking like that. She was appalled--shattered--at the idea
of any friction between father and me. When I stood up for my